


La Promeso

by ilovecharles



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bad Spanish, Conflict, F/M, Fluff, Marriage, Racism, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 03:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18885829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovecharles/pseuds/ilovecharles
Summary: Before Javier fled Mexico in light of his crimes, he had a woman back home in Nuevo Paraíso, Mexico, that loved him just as much as he loved her. This story follows what happens when they are reunited after all these years.





	La Promeso

Nuevo Paraíso, Mexico, 1893

The molten Mexican sun beams down, kissing across every surface it touches; the thin blades of dry grass, the tall and proud palm trees that sway along with the gentle breeze, and the glowing golden skin of the man sat before you. His muscles flex subtly under his thin, white unbuttoned shirt and his hair falls in loose dark tendrils out of his widely shaded sombrero, masking around his face delicately. Your lover’s guitar lay at his crossed legs as his fingers work at the tightened cords, creating a sweet and promising melody that whisks around you both in a breezy hum. The field around you lay silent and peaceful, and in this moment, he is the only thing real in your world.

“Sing our song, amorcito.” You plead, meeting his wishful gaze and propping yourself up on your elbows against the picnic blanket beneath you. He obliged by lifting the corners of his mouth in a warming grin and tuning gently at the neck of his guitar. His words came out like honey, the sweetness sending bundles of fluttering butterflies around your stomach. 

“De la Sierra Morena,  
cielito lindo, vienen bajando,  
Un par de ojitos negros,  
cielito lindo, de contrabando.”

Javier looked up at you, signalling for you to join him in singing the chorus together, and when you did your voices melted together in a symphony along with the quick and precise strokes he emitted against the snappy guitar strings. 

“Ay, ay, ay, ay,  
Canta y no llores!” 

Upon finishing your favourite song, you erupted into laughter together. A church bell chimed in the distance from your nearby village chapel that peaked its way through the swaying trees, proud white brick steeples, beautiful stained-glass windows and large oak doors adorned the small building. You looked at Javier, knowing full well the bells were ringing for one lucky couple after promising themselves to one another in matrimony. As if reading your mind Javier broke your thoughts off softly by placing his guitar at his side and turning his attention to you. “That’ll be us one day, ___.” He spoke whilst kissing at the soft skin of your knuckles before cupping your face between his hands. “We’ll escape, mi amor. I’ll make you my wife. We’ll leave this town together and never look back. Lo prometo, amorcito.”

Even after all these years, his promise still rang around in your head, impossible to forget. That was the last time you’d seen Javier, he’d escaped that night in a disgrace. Your small village was left in shock and destruction in his absence - a wealthy general for the Mexican embassy had been murdered in cold blood by the man you loved, along with a few soldiers that sacrificed themselves in order to protect their regime. Every corner was plastered with Javier’s face, a hefty bounty written in cold black print below. You had avoided the details of his crimes, but couldn’t escape the many stories that were passed around about his new life on American soil. In some he was married, or dead, captured, or a father living as a ranch hand hiding behind a new name and childhood. Truthfully, you were bitter at him for breaking his promise, and even more bitter when you heard stories of him settling down with other women – you hadn’t even looked at another man since he’d left home.

You’d had no intention of ever finding the one that got away before today, but you knew if there was ever a chance of you finding him again and building the life you knew you were destined for, then this way your key – an article named ‘Cornwall Outlaw Train Heist - Valentine’ on the front page of the ‘Paraiso Times’. A grainy image of the suspects was displayed underneath: a group of gunslingers posing by a stagecoach with shiny rifles in their gloved hands, many had their mouths and noses hidden behind dark cloth masks, thus making it near enough impossible to identify them. Your English was only novice level when reading but a certain name did catch your eye – a mister J. Escuella. 

Valentine, New Hanover, America 1899

Stepping from the train, the first thing you notice about the small farming town is the stench of cattle, the persistent trotting of hooves and the constant conversation arising from the wide towns dirtied streets. From studying a map of Valentine on your long train journey across the border from Mexico through New Austin and the surrounding states, you were aware of the general store, gunsmith and the doctor’s office – hoping they would have some information to offer you on the whereabouts of your rogue target. In your two small cases you carry the only possessions of worth to you, a few casual dresses and some small clippings of money you’d gained whilst performing odd jobs in your village back home. Although, must of your savings had gone towards the train fair. 

You make your way first to the general store, acting interested in his wares as not to make yourself seem to desperate for his help. You approach the counter with a small tin of biscuits and pretend to drop a folded bounty poster from your leather case. 

“Oh, that reminds me.” You say absent-mindedly whilst unravelling the paper and showing it to the man, his face visibly cracks a frown at the image of Javier and the sum below him. “Señor, I’m looking for this man here. Do you know where I can find him, por favor.” You could hear your voice crack pleadingly to the man before you, but he mustn’t find out why you’re really looking for Javier.

His eyes search yours questioningly and then he places the bounty back on your side of the counter before adding. “I’m afraid not, ma’am.” You ask at your next pit stops, the gunsmith and the doctor’s office, whom both provide you with little to no information of the whereabouts of your long-lost lover. Maybe he had really moved on? Forgotten about me? Settled down with a women he’d met after finally escaping? The questions swirled around in your head, sinking you into a regret at ever even leaving Mexico, you’d left home for a man that probably hadn’t even thought of you since you’d been apart. The saloon was the only place you wanted to be, with a whisky in your hand and maybe even a man at your side that would indulge in your need for affection without asking any questions – so that’s where you found yourself. 

The saloon was particularly busy for such a small town, working girls lined the benches of the bar, many walking past with men following quick behind with a pretty penny in hand. You dropped your cases next to your stool at the bar and hailed for the bartender, handing him some shiny coins in exchange for some cheap spirits. You felt relatively safe wallowing in your own regret alone in this foreign town until a heavy and clumsy arm slang across your shoulders. 

“What’s a pretty lady like yourself doing so far north of ‘Me-he-co’?” He spoke the last word mockingly, imitating your own pronunciation. Obviously, your complexion had given away the fact you weren’t a native to the ‘new world’. “How about you let ol’ Harry buy you a few more drinks to make you feel right at home?” His breath smelt like pure liquid intoxication equipped with the usual slurring and clumsy footwork along with a thick sheen of sweat coating his thin, course greying hair and baggy overalls. You’d wanted to attention of a man, but not one that’s going to blatantly mock your nationality and not one that smells like rotting pig flesh coupled nicely with the stench of piss.

“That’s very kind of you, señor, but, actually, I have to get going.” You explain, hurriedly lifting yourself to your feet and downing the rest of your small shot; the strong fluid burns against your throat as you swallow. He meets your hand aggressively as you slam the glass upon the bars surface. 

“Listen here, spic bitch. You gotta’ earn your-” The drunkard was cut off by a clenched and powerful fist to his slacking jaw. Harry drew back in both anger and shock, letting go of your hand to cup the bruise forming on his face, adding insult to injury by facing his competitor and spitting out his words with a sharp chuckle. “Looks like this foreign whores got a greaser boyfriend!”

The fight broke out so quickly that you didn’t have the opportunity to identify the chivalrous gentleman that had protected you, from what you could make out between the flying fists and broken chair legs launching through the air he had a poncho perched around his shoulders, much like the ones that your village that produced back home. The thin wool of his poncho intertwined at his chest to create an image that immediately felt familiar to you, a white building with a bell tower and what looked like stained-glass complimenting its small windows, surrounded by a lining of trees in the distance of an empty and peaceful field. Exactly like Nuevo Paraiso. The mans eyes came up to meet yours, they were a warm wood brown framed by a dark pair of short whispy lashes. His facial hair shaped precisely and perfectly against his jaw and a complimentary widely-brimmed sombrero upon his head. His mouth opened to form an ‘o’ and his eyes blinked rapidly at the sight of the woman before him – the one that’d been the centre of his thoughts from the moment he awoke in the mornings to the moment he’d rest his eyes at night. A woman he’d thought he’d probably never see again, only in his dreams.

You clutched at the handles of your luggage while the realisation and recognition washed over you both, the harsh leather cutting slightly into your palms. Javier hadn’t changed a bit. Even in this saloon filled with screaming working girls and shouting drunkard men, he still looked at you the same way he did nearly a decade ago. The butterflies returned to the pit of your stomach and once again the only things that seemed to matter in this confusing world at the moment were you and Javier. The sweet reunion was short lived, dramatically cut short by a shot fired at the glasses lining the bar at your side. Javier ran towards you, gripping a case in his hand and meeting your free palm with his own before dragging hurriedly out of the saloon and towards his agitated mare hitched patiently outside. Javier hangs your cases alongside the hooks of his saddle and then motions at his horse for you to mount. Before you know it you’re clutching at his torso while his horse rides with the wind away from the gunshots and smashing glasses of the riotous Valentine saloon. 

His horse slows down and leaps it’s way across a distressed brick wall that has lined its way around a deserted crop field, before coming to a sudden halt. Your head was pounding with shock in the aftermath of previous events, the gunshots still ringing irritably in your ears. Javier leaps off his horse, delicately lifting you off the back like fine china and enveloping you in his arms tight and feverishly. His words always came out like honey, now was no different, and they were a melody to your ringing ears. 

“___.” He whispered your name into the crook of your neck as if it was sacred. “Am I dreaming?”

You giggled lightly at his question, meeting his hands in your own and pulling back to examine his face, a few small abrasions and bruises, nothing he probably wasn’t already accustomed to with his life on the run. The thought of it sent you into a silent outrage and you couldn’t stop yourself from connecting a soft palm to the flesh of his cheek. 

“Bastardo!” The word left your mouth without you even thinking.

“Okay, I deserved that.” He acknowledges with a slight nod, a silent moment goes past while you both gather your thoughts, and he was the first to break it. “Amorcito, I’ve missed you more than I can put into words. I wanted to write you but Dutch said –“ he explains.

“Don’t call me that, Javier! Quien diablos es Dutch!” You spit out.

“My mentor, mi amor. He took me in when I escaped. I wanted to find you, lo prometo.” His voice is stained with regret and remorse, his eyes searching yours for some type of forgiveness as if begging. You couldn’t let his honey covered words coax you in as if nothing ever happened, as if he hadn’t abandoned you and left you broken-hearted and delirious. 

“Like the prometo you made to be 9 years ago, estúpido!” You could see his body flinch at your words, as though you’d sent a cold spike straight through his heart. “I woke up and you were gone, Javier. No ‘adios’ or ‘lo siento’. Nada!” Your screamed, tears brimming your eyes and blurring your flurried vision. You wanted to hate him, but simultaneously you understood that he had to get away from his mistake and that going back for you would only be a sure death sentence for him. “We had a life together, Javier. You said it yourself. You left me.” By now the tears were escaping in powerful streams down your cheeks, your voice was becoming hoarse and broken with your emotions.

“Novio,” He coos, gently wiping at the tears that streamed down your cheeks “I made my bed that night, I had to lay in it, but that doesn’t mean you have to as well. I wanted to give you a chance to live a good life. I’d hate myself even more if I stole that away from you for my own selfish gain, mi amor.” His silver tongue constricted in your chest and the love you felt it that moment wasn’t something you could even pu tinto words, but you certainly did your best. 

“I love you, Javier.” You sobbed, his eyes now lighting up at the magnitude you’d sacrificed for him, and he knew you weren’t going anywhere. “I left everything behind to find you, you’re my family now.” As if reading your pleas he lifts your delicate fingers to his soft lips and kisses at your knuckles the same way he had all those years ago. 

“Te amo, ___.” 

The next few weeks passed in a delightful blur, with each night ending with you under the stars with Javier at your side. He still had his guitar, one of the only possessions he’d made sure to escape with, and at every chance you could he serenade you with his talent. The others in camp quickly warmed to you after realising who you were, turns out Javier often made you the topic of conversation, particularly on drunken nights when he was feeling particularly regretful and nostalgic. The girls in camp became the bestest of friends, you’d trade love stories with Mary-Beth and drunken antics with Karen – the men would show their appreciation in their own ways, often by making little jokes about you and Javier, but you knew they meant well. 

Just like with Javier, Dutch and Hosea took you in as their own, making you a welcoming addition to their dysfunctional yet completely functional family. Within a year Javier had fulfilled his original promise, making you his wife – and the church bells definitely chimed for you both that day.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr @i-love-charles!


End file.
